


Do It To Me

by alexabarton



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, M/M, Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 19:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3949360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexabarton/pseuds/alexabarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shy Sherlock fantasizes about hot classmate John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do It To Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was purely a writing exercise to help me unblock, which is happening a lot lately. That's life I guess. It probably sucks but someone, somewhere might think it's okay.

"Hardly wise", remarks Mycroft.

"Hardly your business", I reply. I don't care for his opinion, for his three-piece suits and Victorian sensibilities. He could slip right back to 1849 and be perfectly at home there running the country from the Diogenes. Some things never change. But I do. A constant state of flux. Restless, adrift. I tug at the front of my hair and you smirk knowingly as you turn at the top of the stairs.

***

The locker room is blessedly empty. I stand before the cracked porcelain sink and frown at what I see in the mirror. It is truth universally acknowledged that I, Sherlock Holmes am rapidly running out of suitable places in which to pierce my flesh with surgical steel.

A barbell through the left eyebrow this time. It straddles the arch where it tapers to the end.

I could of course have gone for the nipple instead, the left, and created a matching set, but the asymmetry it creates is oddly aesthetically pleasing.

Mother thinks: Why on earth would such a beautiful boy want to ruin himself like this?

Am I beautiful? I think not. Days and months and years of staring at the same reflection tell as much, and a plethora of anecdotal proof from my peers would likewise beg to differ. They don't understand. My body is just a canvas to me now, each mark representing a visual memory of a moment otherwise lost in time. Memory is flexible, fallible and uncertain and until I learn to master it, I'll map out the passage of time on my body. The pain makes it real, a visual history written in blood and skin. I do this only for my own perverse pleasure,and yours too should you want it. I'll overwrite nature in metal and ink, erase what everyone expects me to be.

But blatant exhibitionism is not my natural state of being, and reticence avoids impertinent questions. Victor knows of course. But then again, it would be rather inconvenient to fuck fully clothed.

Perhaps I want to be seen then, to be admired. He does have rather a fetish and I'm only human after all.

Does that surprise you, I wonder. That I'm human - or that I have sex at all?

Would it interest you to know that I can come from just the flick of a tongue against the ring through my nipple if I focus? Perhaps if I mentioned that the filthy mental imagery conjured is of your mussed blond hair and rugby players thighs?

Would you like it John Watson? I would show you I think. 

You could have me any way you want, I really wouldn't mind.

On my knees perhaps. I would love that. Your thick hard cock rammed half-way down my throat choking on spit and come with your fingers tightly gripped in my hair.

God how I want you.

To slide my fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear. Tight white cotton, moulded to the curve of your muscular arse. 

I want to bury my face between your legs. Fuck, I could live there. Spread those cheeks apart with my thumbs and bury my tongue in your hot, wet hole. I'd make it wet, make you wet for me. Make you cry and beg while I lick and suck you mercilessly, laving over the pink puckered skin over and over till you scream. Fuck you with my mouth until you're begging at my feet for my cock in your arse.

Pure fantasy, I know.

Who am I trying to fool?

We both know one look from you and I would spread my goddamn legs like a whore.

You could fuck right on in there, I know I can take it. 

You could kiss me and hold me and tell me that I'm beautiful.

Would you? Will you?

If only you would notice me.

I would write you on my body. Where would you like to be?

Be a part of my story.

Let me finish it with you.


End file.
